FIC: Waiting
Title: Waiting
Fandom: LOST
Rating: G
Word Count: 297
Summary: Desmond hates this lobby, possibly more than he hates Charles Widmore himself.
Warnings: 4.03 spoilers and some idle speculation
Disclaimer: LOST is the property of ABC.
A/N: For elliotsmelliot, who stumped me on the fanfiction meme.
x-posted to lost_fanfic and henrygalelovers
Desmond hates this lobby, possibly more than he hates Charles Widmore himself. He hates that he’s forced to wait until Widmore deigns to see him, that he’ll sit here in these hard, immaculate leather chairs, until that precious moment arrives that the man finally feels he can sacrifice. He hates that there is rarely anyone else waiting there, that he can be made to feel like an annoyance, a disturbing break in the day of a busy man. He hates that all of this makes him act like a nervous idiot.
But today there’s someone else here. An unremarkable man (like him -- Widmore has a knack for collecting them) wearing glasses, paging slowly through a magazine and wearing a very small smile. He looks unconcerned. Relaxed, even. There’s something about that fact that makes Desmond ask, “You’re a business associate of Mr Widmore’s?” He doesn’t think he means to be confrontational, but he’s a bit pleased by the fact that he is.
The other man looks up, blue eyes studying Desmond mildly. “Possibly,” he eventually says in a bland American accent that makes Desmond think of fields of maize. “We’ll see. You?”
“No.” He pairs the word with a smile that is not quite friendly and not quite humourless.
The man returns a similar smile, as if he knows just how Desmond feels, and more than that, he can sympathise. Desmond wonders when he got so transparent, but he appreciates the meagre show of solidarity.
The receptionist’s stilettos click on the floor as she strides to the waiting area. “Mr Widmore is ready to see you now, Mr Linus,” she says briskly.
The American stands up. “Best of luck to you, Desmond,” he says.
It’s not until several minutes later that Desmond realises he never introduced himself.
Fandom: LOST
Rating: G
Word Count: 297
Summary: Desmond hates this lobby, possibly more than he hates Charles Widmore himself.
Warnings: 4.03 spoilers and some idle speculation
Disclaimer: LOST is the property of ABC.
A/N: For elliotsmelliot, who stumped me on the fanfiction meme.
x-posted to lost_fanfic and henrygalelovers
Desmond hates this lobby, possibly more than he hates Charles Widmore himself. He hates that he’s forced to wait until Widmore deigns to see him, that he’ll sit here in these hard, immaculate leather chairs, until that precious moment arrives that the man finally feels he can sacrifice. He hates that there is rarely anyone else waiting there, that he can be made to feel like an annoyance, a disturbing break in the day of a busy man. He hates that all of this makes him act like a nervous idiot.
But today there’s someone else here. An unremarkable man (like him -- Widmore has a knack for collecting them) wearing glasses, paging slowly through a magazine and wearing a very small smile. He looks unconcerned. Relaxed, even. There’s something about that fact that makes Desmond ask, “You’re a business associate of Mr Widmore’s?” He doesn’t think he means to be confrontational, but he’s a bit pleased by the fact that he is.
The other man looks up, blue eyes studying Desmond mildly. “Possibly,” he eventually says in a bland American accent that makes Desmond think of fields of maize. “We’ll see. You?”
“No.” He pairs the word with a smile that is not quite friendly and not quite humourless.
The man returns a similar smile, as if he knows just how Desmond feels, and more than that, he can sympathise. Desmond wonders when he got so transparent, but he appreciates the meagre show of solidarity.
The receptionist’s stilettos click on the floor as she strides to the waiting area. “Mr Widmore is ready to see you now, Mr Linus,” she says briskly.
The American stands up. “Best of luck to you, Desmond,” he says.
It’s not until several minutes later that Desmond realises he never introduced himself.